


Everybody Hates the Winchesters

by Devilishdetails



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, BAMF Stiles, Gen, Girl!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilishdetails/pseuds/Devilishdetails
Summary: The Winchesters find a vampire nest a few miles from a little town called Beacon Hills. Things get a little crazy.Set post season 7 of Supernatural and season 3 of Teen Wolf (but who really cares about canon anyway).





	

The door of the abandoned church creaks, heavy wood scraping against the floor as it opens. Sam winces at the squeak of the hinges, and he and Dean wait for a moment before slowly stepping into the building. Dean shifts his grip on the machete as Sam follows, crossbow clutched in both hands.

Though the vampires did a good job of blocking out the daylight to sleep undisturbed in their ratty hammocks, a few streaks of midday light sneak through the roof and half-rotten walls to crisscross the floor. The beams glint on the glass beer bottles and jewelry strewn among the broken pews and reflect off the bars of a cage containing a few whimpering victims, illuminate the rope binding a short, blood-streaked, motionless girl to the leg of a stone altar.

They slide to the back of the church where the cage is and leave the girl lying against the altar, remembering the first time they went vampire hunting and tried to save a tied-up girl who turned out to be a freshly-made vamp. Dean pulls out his lock picks and wiggles the metal strips into the rusted cage latch. Sam stands behind him, swiveling his crossbow to whichever vampire shifts most in their sleep.

Neither of them notices the girl watching them through the tendrils of her sweaty, sticky, slightly bloody hair. She rotates her wrists slowly, loosening the looped rope with practiced motions. She ignores the twinges of pain as the threads grate into her skin, instead focusing on the hunters quietly crashing around, about to destroy her carefully-laid plan.

Dean gets the lock open and Sam begins to usher the crying teens to the door, leading them so they won't run and screw up everything. Dean hears a quiet thump of skin against wood and turns. The girl at the altar is staring wide-eyed at him, pulling helplessly at the rope. He approaches cautiously and gestures for her to bare her teeth. When she does, he ignores her flinch as he reaches for her and pulls up her lip. He sees no vampire teeth hiding in her gums, so he starts to saw at the rope binding her wrists so tightly her skin is burned.

There are only six kids, including the one still at the altar. It should've been perfect, completely silent, seamless.

Two steps away from the door, the last boy in the line catches his toe on a piece of broken wood. He falls, and his cry sends six vampires leaping into wakefulness--three more fall out of their hammocks and stumble into awakening.

Sam grabs the kid's arm and flings him to the other four, yelling, "Run!" Dean surges out of his crouch, raises his machete and slides a few steps to one side, drawing the attack away from the girl. 

The girl stops pretending to be helpless and starts vigorously twisting her hands. Not that anyone's paying attention to the little human girl in the shadow of the altar.

The first vampires to attack are responding purely to adrenaline as they lunge for Dean. They come at him full of snarling teeth and hands ready to rip him apart, but Dean steps to the right as he swings his machete and shoves the now headless body at the other vamp. She doesn't stumble or fall, but it slows her down enough that he can send a hacking blow through her neck.

A third vampire was too close behind the freshly fallen pair, and he trips over their bodies, slipping in the blood spreading from their severed necks. His legs tangled in the corpses, he reaches for Dean with nails sharpened like claws, but before Dean can risk exposing his back to the two slow-risers heading towards him, an arrow slams through the clumsy one's spine. He continues to grasp at Dean for only a moment before the dead man's blood takes effect and his head drops to the ground, black darkening his veins from the inside.

Sam gets off one more shot before he has to focus on his own vamps; the arrow only grazes the arm of one of the vamps going after Dean before banging into and denting a wall. The poison will still work, but it will take longer to spread through her body enough for it to matter.

The second wave of vamps is more cautious, better prepared; nothing like seeing two family members die to make you want their killer to die a slow, painful death. They separate around the bodies of their brothers and sister, flanking Dean. Dean steps back, trying to keep his eyes on them both.

When they leap forward at the same moment, Dean makes the split-second decision to focus on the uninjured one. He turns and begins a backswing that ought to go straight through the vamp's neck, but the vamp is too fast and the angle is all wrong. His machete gets stuck in the monster's shoulder, and his scream hurts Dean's ears, unearthly notes reverberating through his body. This one must be young--usually they don't feel pain at all. 

What hurts more is the other vampire slamming into his side. She knocks him into the bars of the prisoner's cage, and he feels his ribs bend, his arm break. Dean screams. The vampire throws a leg over him, bites into his neck and gets in a few gulps before she keels over, and her weight pins his good arm to his body, deceptively heavy for such a slight-looking girl.

Dean is woozy and his vision is a little blurry--he's pretty sure he hit his head against the cage when he went down, his ribs and elbow are at least fractured, and even just a minor bloodsucking session is not conducive to healing. He is not, however, too out of it to hear Sam's shout, pain or surprise or both. He starts to call back, but then he has a more immediate problem two feet away, dripping blood all over the place.

He hopes the vamp doesn't turn him by dripping blood on Dean and his various cuts. That cure was bad enough the first time.

The vampire grips the machete embedded in his left shoulder with his opposite hand and wrenches it out of his chest. There is a scrape of bone and a gush of blood, and the fangy bastard pushes on the wound until his shoulders make a slightly more normal line.

Dean tries to move, get the poisoned vamp off of him, but when he manages to shove her slightly she lands on his bad arm and the wave of pain does not allow for more movement.

The vampire bares his teeth and snarls, "I bet your blood is delicious."

Dean reaches for the knife sheathed in his belt, but the vamp is reaching for him with sharpened nails and Dean knows he's not going to get to it fast enough. Even if he did suddenly get super strength and manage to grab it, the dead man's blood wouldn't bring the vamp down until after Dean bled out.

There is a flash of metal. The vampire blinks once before he falls to his knees and then his side, and his head rolls away. Behind him stands the girl Dean had left tied to the altar, some sort of bladed staff in her hands, simple but for the runes carved into the silver band near the base of the blade and another silver cap at the end of the staff. She looks grim, and the blood splattered across her face and drenching her clothes makes her look dangerous. As soon as the head finishes its roll across the floor, she smiles brightly, like her day couldn’t be more perfect.

She looks disturbingly comfortable in a skin painted with someone else's blood.

"Heads will roll, right?" She laughs and spins the staff so the blade points upright, its tip a few feet above her head. "You mind if I...?" she asks, pointing at the female vampire still lying on top of Dean.

"All yours," he grunts, shifting sideways to help the girl roll the vamp off of him.

"They're nasty fuckers, aren't they?" the girl says, continuing too quickly to give Dean a chance to answer. "They always leave trash and blood and heads all over the place. It's a total mess to clean up. Watch your fingers." Dean jerks his hand to the side as the girl sweeps the blade down, severing the vampire's neck cleanly in two.

Dean uses the bars of the cage to help him stand up, blinking stars out of his eyes. "Thankfully we don't have to clean up," the girl is chattering, "I have some ghouls on speed dial. Once, they went out of town and I had to burn down the whole warehouse the nest was in. It's really hiding the bones and teeth that's the problem with vamps, though, because even in a super high temperature fire bones don't burn. Did you know when they cremate someone, they actually grind up the skeleton and add it to the ash after? I'm Stiles, by the way."

Stiles waltzes over to the clumsy vamp, who has struggled to his knees among his fallen comrades. "Please," he whispers, and Stiles doesn't wait to learn whether he's begging for life or death before she cuts off his head with a long, smooth swipe. Dean looks at Sam, who is panting against a wall, a cut on his neck but otherwise seemingly okay. Sam's machete is six feet away, but there are three other vampires around him, all in the same state of decapitation.

"So are you guys going to introduce yourselves or are you the super-secretive don't-tell-the-new-girl-anything type?" Stiles asks. She drags one vampire towards the pile of the others. "Does something seem off to you? There's definitely something off."

"I'm Dean Winchester, he's Sam," Dean says. "Who are you?"

"I already told you. Stiles Stilinski, at your service!" Stiles says with a sarcastic salute. "I saw you don't fight very quick, but I didn't think you'd be slow all around. Is that an effect of getting old?" 

"Hey, watch your mouth, kid. No one likes a smartass," Dean says.

"Whatcha' gonna do, beat me with your cane?" Stiles cackles. Dean opens his mouth to retort, but Sam catches his eye and shakes his head slightly. Dean couldn't actually think of any good insults, so he agrees to shut up.

Stiles crosses to the pile of assorted bags that came with the kidnapped teenagers and drags out one ratty backpack. She tugs a plastic water bottle from a side pocket, takes a sip and shows it briefly to Dean before demanding he "Catch.” He doesn't catch it. He hears Stiles snort and flips her off as he stoops to pick it up. 

"Drink that," she tells him. "It'll help with the pain. Not all of it, though. Share it with him. You'll get crazy woozy if you drink it all, trust me." She shivers for emphasis.

Dean opens the bottle and sniffs it carefully. "What is this?"

"Valerian root tea with a little extra pow. Trust me, it'll work," Stiles says and begins to rummage through her bag again. Dean takes a swig and is surprised when his pain dulls to a slight throb. He tosses it to Sam, who sips cautiously before taking a bigger swallow. 

"I’d rather have booze, but it works" Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes.

Stiles is pulling out packets that look like tea bags and reading the scribbled labels when she hears a creak. She slowly reaches for her staff, hiding the motion by shifting her weight and pretending to be absorbed in her bag. She glances at Dean and Sam and sees them having some sort of silent conversation using various facial expressions and slight gestures.

There's another creak, closer this time, and Stiles's hand shoots out to grab her naginata and jam it backwards, driving the butt of the shaft into about where the torso of a person would be. She hits squishy stomach, and the yelp says male.

A little under six feet tall, then, probably bent over now. Stiles rolls onto her back, swings her naginata up in a circle, and screams.

Scott gapes at her, naginata buried in his side.

"Stiles," he chokes, falling to his other side on the ground.

"Scott!" Stiles yells. She scrambles onto all fours, kneeling beside him. "Oh shit, shit shit shit."

The Winchesters start to head over but hesitate when Stiles hears their steps and says, "Stay back!"

"Take it out," Scott groans, face screwed up in pain.

"Okay, okay, just like when the Oni stabbed you, right?" Stiles says, grabbing hold of the wood again and taking a deep breath.

"That was the nogitsune, and it made it worse," Scott pants.

"Shut up, I'm trying to focus! On three, ready?" Stiles takes a deep breath, shifting her bloody fingers on the polished wood. The blade hit Scott's ribs and got stuck, so she'll have to pull it straight out. 

Before she can start her count, Sam shouts, "Wait!" Stiles jerks back, startled. Sam had taken a step forward, but he halts when he sees her glare. "I really don’t think taking that out is a good idea. He might bleed out even faster."

"He won't bleed out," Stiles snaps and takes hold again. She nudges Scott into a better angle and counts.

"One, two--" she jerks up early, yanking hard and pulling the blade all the way out. Scott screams through gritted teeth, and his features ripple. His eyes flash red, and though he rolls onto his elbows she sees his bones shifting and hair sprouting from his cheeks. She bites her lip, peering at his side.

"Do you need yarrow?" Stiles asks, even though she sees the skin knitting closed. Scott grunts and shakes his head.

"It's healing already. You need it more," he slurs through enlarged teeth. Stiles nods.

This time there are two clicks as both Winchesters take the safeties off their guns.

Malia and Scott snarl back, and Kira brandishes her katana. Well, they came out of nowhere.

"Aw, shit," Stiles murmurs. Louder, she says, "All right, guys, how about the were-creatures put away their fangs and you fine fellas put away your guns and we use our words to work this out, like civilized people, yes?"

Scott and Malia put away their fangs and nails, if somewhat reluctantly, but the Winchesters leave their guns up. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen, sweetheart," Dean says, and Sam scoffs.

"I don't think they're civilized people, Stiles," Malia says. 

"Not helping, Malia," Stiles replies. She sets down her naginata and gestures for Kira to sheathe her katana. She stands slowly, hands raised in surrender. "So, I know this looks bad."

"What are you?" Sam asks. His tone is an almost exact copy of Dean's, and that's when Stiles tags them as brothers.

"Introductions, right. This is Scott, Malia, Kira. We are the least werewolf werewolf-pack in at least NorCal. Guys, this is Sam and Dean Winchester."

Kira smiles awkwardly and waves a little.

"So you’re all werewolves,” Dean says. “And this is supposed to make us trust you?”

“Some of us are werewolves. Some of us are… other things,” Scott says.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m totally human. I bruise easy and everything. Not a threat at all," Stiles says.

"Uh, they just saw you behead multiple vampires and stab a werewolf with your freaky spear-thing," Malia says. "And you're completely covered in blood. I don't think they're going to believe you're not a threat."

"It's a naginata, not a freaky spear thing. Respect the blade. And unless they're attacking innocent people, friends, or family, I'm not a threat! I'm just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!" Stiles says.

"Spider-Man has superpowers," Malia snarks.

"Ha-ha, you're so funny when you're PURPOSELY MISSING THE POINT," Stiles retorts, and then says "Whassat?" when she hears Sam say something that sounds vaguely like cheerio but is probably Christo.

He throws water in her face. "What the hell, man! I thought we were getting along," Stiles splutters.

"In what world is this getting along?" Sam says, and adds, "Not a demon," for Dean's benefit.

"Yeah, I could have told you that myself," Stiles gripes, wiping the liquid out of her eyes. "What is this, holy water? Rude." She ends up smearing the blood splatters across her face more than cleaning the water off. The smudges on her fingers remind her: "Oh, I have to make that thing now. Are you guys satisfied, or are we going to wait until one of us turns into a vampire to clean up?"

She doesn't wait for an answer before crouching back down by her backpack. She separates four tea bags from the rest. "Make sure you label the samples right this time!" Stiles calls to the pack, sliding them a few empty travel-size shampoo bottles, and they spare the Winchesters one more glance before each grabbing a few bottles and heading over to the beheaded vamps on the floor. Stiles is working the staples open on the tea bags when she hears two clunks, one heavy and one lighter. She looks back to see another vamp's head rolling on the floor and Scott jumping down from the rafters.

"You missed one," he calls to her. "There were nine. He was probably going to jump down and attack when you weren't expecting it."

"I'm always expecting it, can't you tell? Or have you forgotten that time a minute ago when you tried to sneak up on me and I almost bisected you?" They both make faces at her word choice--very reminiscent of Gerard.

Dean fires a warning shot at the wall and Stiles looks back at him. "I'm sorry for interrupting your little... whatever, but are we really supposed to just take your word for it that you're not all going around killing people just like these guys?" he asks, nodding to the vamps.

"OH MY GOD, fine. Here," she tells them, pulling out her phone and unlocking it. "I have like twenty hunters in the contacts, see if there's someone you know." She tosses the phone to Sam.

Kira approaches the Winchesters slowly, hands raised, and asks, "Do you mind if I, you know... blood and stuff?" She smiles nervously and gestures to the corpse behind them.

"What do you need their blood for?" Dean asks.

"The-- what are you calling it now, Stiles?" she calls over her shoulder.

"Anti-vampirification purification!"

"It's for the anti-vampirification purification. It keeps you from turning into a vampire. We label the bottles with descriptions of the bodies in case it doesn't work--"

"Which it always does," Stiles interrupts.

"That's impossible. You can only cure someone after they turn." Dean glances back at Sam, who nods sharply and adds, "That's what Samuel said."

"Well, Samuel is wrong," Stiles proclaims. She holds up the Ikea bowl and metal spoon she's using to grind up the contents of the tea bags. "Burdock root, goldenseal seeds, bloodroot and garlic. Grind 'em up, mix 'em with the vamp blood you think you got in you, and voila! No bloodlusting for the poor fragile humans, and no projectile vomiting your guts."

Dean grimaces. Sam is talking to someone now, making surprised noises and queries. He glances at Stiles, who grins beatifically, and tells the person, "Yeah, she seems fine. Hey, we'll talk later, alright? Right. Okay, Bye."

He turns to whisper in Dean's ear. Stiles makes eye contact with Scott, who comes over and says quietly, "They called Garth. They say it sounded like him, but they're checking the number against their contacts to make sure it's not fake."

"Call Garth too, see what he says about the Winchesters. I want to know if these guys follow the code." If they're calling Garth, they're probably okay with werewolves, but Stiles doesn't take risks when it comes to her family.

"So how's Garth?" Stiles asks the Winchesters, who are finally putting their guns away and coming over, if hesitantly. "Did he babble about the baby or did you manage to cut him off first?" She sees Sam reach for his gun again and says, "Don't say things you don't want someone to know if they have werewolves for friends."

"He's fine," Sam replies after sharing a glance with Dean. They stand over Stiles, still trying to intimidate her. They don't seem to realize she deals with tall, dark, and broody every day. It's no longer scary. "So how does this purification work?"

Stiles accepts the last bottle o' blood from Kira and resumes her work with increased vigor. "Goldenseal, burdock root, and bloodroot clean your liver, and the garlic kills bacteria that vampire blood carries. The anti-vampirification purification is like a vaccine. The herbs mess with the vamp blood and basically teach the liver that it's not good blood. Also like a vaccine, it can supposedly have some side effects similar vampirism, but I’ve never experienced anything other than a little nausea.”

Once he works through the analogies, Dean's a little incredulous. More than a little. "You want us to shoot up vampire blood and some herbs. Are you insane?"

"Yup. It can be a salve, too, that you put on your wounds, but usually I get too cut up for it to be practical. I'll go first. Can't promise it won't kill you, but it hasn't killed me yet." She grins. "Unless you want to wait and see who becomes the next top bloodsucker and then take your best guess at which of the other bloodsuckers got you, I suggest you try my anti-vampirification purification. Don't worry, I brought extra needles. We don't have to share."

"Where did you learn this?" Sam asks, crouching down next to Stiles and ignoring Dean's 'WTF are you doing' face.

"There was a pack traveling through a few months back with a human. They stopped by to let us know they weren't trying to take over our territory and saw me, and their human taught this human some new tricks. He was a Wiccan. They're really nice, you know any?"

"You talk like you're one of them. The pack," Dean says.

"She is," Scott says. He pockets his phone and comes to stand next to her.

Stiles smiles softly as she draws a rune on the bottom of the bowl with her finger and unwraps a needle. She dips it into the mixture and draws up the plunger.

"Scott, you're up," she says, holding the needle out to him. He makes a face.

"Why do I always have to do it?" He whines.

"Because you work at a clinic, idiot, and I don't want to inject myself. Come on, do it fast." 

“A vet clinic,” Scott mutters, but he takes the needle anyway. Tears prick at Stiles’ eyes as he stabs her upper arm. Then all of the pain from the cuts and bruises go away as Scott lays his hand on her arm, absorbing her pain.

Dean notices her watery eyes. "You got beat up all over, and yet you're crying at a little needle in your arm?"

"I hate needles, okay? Just for that, you shall have no pie."

Dean perks up. "There's pie?"

Stiles and Sam both roll their eyes, if for different reasons. "No, I meant it like the nursery rhyme--you know, 'You naughty kittens, you lost your mittens, you-- Forget it."

Stiles is explaining what some of the other herbs in her bag do when Derek slips through the door and begins to lurk in the shadows in the peripheries of the Winchesters' vision.

Sam notices Derek first and immediately grabs for the nearest weapon. Dean sees him moving and follows suit. "Who are you?" Dean demands, but a second later, Lydia comes in texting, and without looking at the Winchesters she tells them, "Don't bother drawing, no one dies today. Except them, obviously," and waves her hand dismissively in the general direction of the pile of vampires.

She picks her way across the floor in her fashionable boots, avoiding the pools of blood surrounding the decapitated corpses. When she reaches the group surrounding the little bowl of blood and herbs, she perches on a box behind Stiles.

"You're a mess," Lydia announces, and pours out her water bottle over Stiles's head. Stiles yelps in surprise and then shakes her head, sending pinkish droplets flying off the ends of her hair. "Derek and I gathered up the victims; they're waiting for Scott outside. I brought you spare clothes, Stiles. Didn't I tell you not to draw those? Don't answer that, I know I did," Lydia says sternly, narrowing her eyes at Dean and Sam, both pointing their guns at Derek. "Who are you two, anyway?"

"Winchesters. Garth says they're okay, but he met them before he got turned so they already trusted him. I'm going outside," Scott explains.

"I'll go with you. Nice meeting you two!" Kira runs after him, laughing and piggybacking out on Scott's back.

"Aren't you two those serial killers who were officially declared dead at least twice?" Lydia asks. Everyone looks at the Winchesters, and flashes of recognition come over their faces. Suddenly there are claws out and flashing eyes, and the Winchesters go on the defensive.

"It wasn't us," Sam says, holding up his hands, though Dean keeps a tight grip on his gun. "Well, the first time it was us, but we were hunting and got blamed for the monsters, but the second bank vault and all that, that was Leviathans. You know about Leviathans, right?"

"Never met one, but we've heard of them," Stiles says. "Derek?"

"Telling the truth," he says. "Unless they're sociopaths."

"We're not?"

Stiles shrugs. They're outnumbered anyway, and the Winchesters on TV had been flashy, showing off their kills. These Winchesters were freeing the victims and killing the vamps. And now that the pack had the scent, they'd never lose it. The pack relaxes slightly and the Winchesters set their guns down again.

"What are they going to do to those kids?" Dean asks, wincing as Stiles prods his arm.

"This is definitely broken. Anyway, Scott'll erase their memories, if they want, or explain the supernatural-- HOLY SHIT."

Everyone looks up at her exclamation, though most of the pack goes back to lazing around after the initial surprise. "Sam and Dean. Like the Supernatural series! Holy shit! Derek, is there an Impala somewhere out there?"

Derek nods. "Parked off the highway."

"Oh my god. I read all of those books. Uh, for research purposes. They were actually semi-useful, unlike some books. Obviously because you're real! Anyway. This is so cool! Did you write them?"

Dean and Sam look uncomfortable. Stiles's face lit up when she realized that they were the hunting brothers and she was waving the needle as she spoke, nearly stabbing Sam in the eye. The pack is pretending not to pay attention, but they’d seen the Supernatural books lined up on a shelf in Stiles's room. They know something's up.

"We didn't write them, but we know the author," Sam tells her. He catches her wrist and removes the needle before she can start waving it again. Malia growls at the touch from her spot in the shadows and he releases Stiles quickly.

Stiles crosses her legs and leans forward. "Really? Carver Edlund? Is he really a prophet of the Lord or was he playing himself up? Why did he stop writing? Is he dead? You two keep a lot of secrets from each other. And die a lot. And have a lot of sex. This is so exciting, tell me more. Tell me everything. I mean, not about the sex, but about hunting. I mean, if you want to talk about the sex, that's fine too, but--"

"He’s dead, but I'm gonna kill him," Dean growls. "I'm going to find his grave, dig him up, bring him back to life, and kill him."

"There's not really much to tell," Sam says. "We just hunt like everyone else."

"Not like everyone else! You stopped the apocalypse! Twice! You've gotta have stories. I'll give you pie for stories," Stiles needles.

"Leave them alone, Stiles," Derek says from the shadows, and Stiles glares at him before conceding with a grumpy "Fine."

"I want stories," Malia interjects.

"Malia," Derek chastises.

"I'll lend you the books later," Stiles says, grinning at the slightly red Winchesters. "Hey, Malia, do the pain thing for Dean."

"You always say that like it's so easy and pleasant," Malia grumbles, but she still drags herself off the row of boxes she had draped herself over with a groan and reaches out for Dean's hand. He pulls away, protesting, "Woah, woah, woah, I don't want any pain thing."

"Just give me your hand," Malia says, exasperated, and grabs Dean's wrist. She makes a face as she sucks out his pain, and he watches the black squirm up her veins.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks, wondering if he should be pushing Malia away from Dean. He'd noticed Scott doing the same thing to Stiles, though.

"Taking away his pain," Malia says in her best 'duh' voice. "It's something we can do. Works better on pack members, but hey, what can you do."

"I've never heard of that," Sam says, glancing at Dean, who shrugs--You're the research expert.

"It only works with ritual descendants," Derek says. Before the Winchesters can ask, he explains, "There are cursed descendants and ritual descendants. My family's from people who lived with wolves, who were so much like wolves that they started to become them. We have control when we change, even on the full moon, because we can anchor our humanities. Cursed ones don't have control because they were cursed that way, to be monsters every month. They're the ones who get hunted down."

“That was so many words,” Stiles says under her breath. “I’m so proud.” Derek shoots her a glare.

"That's why you were talking about alphas and packs? I thought that was some weird cult thing," Dean says. Derek rolls his eyes and lapses back into silence. Malia lets go of Dean's arm and he moves it around, huhs at the mobility.

"Don't do that, it'll wear off faster," Stiles says. "But yeah, it's why our pack is structured like an actual wolf pack. Plus the fox and the coyote and the ban- Lydia and me."

"How come we've never heard of ritual descendants?" Sam asks.

Stiles replies, "Cursed ones are more common. There are dozens of curses, if you're willing to sacrifice your soul for it. Not many people want to live with wolves."

"How do you get a coyote then?"

Malia answers, "Sometimes your shape changes to suit your character, and sometimes it’s genetics."

Sam pauses for a moment to digest this information and wonder what that means about Malia. Then he continues, "Don't they ever go rabid?"

Lydia barks a laugh. Stiles turns to give her a concerned, sad look, and Lydia smacks her lightly on the nose and says, "Don't look at me like that."

Derek draws their attention away by saying, "We usually take care of it ourselves. If a hunter gets one, they’re usually written off as cursed. You ask a lot of questions."

He sounds vaguely threatening. Sam's jaw clenches just a little and Stiles jumps in before a staring match can begin. "Okay, Sourwolf," she jokes. "No need to get testy. We're all friends here, right?" Her tone is light, but it sounds like a dare. "Well, I have reached the extent of my pamphlet's knowledge. I think your arm is broken, Dean Winchester, and Sam might have a concussion, and I can't really treat either of those, so I suggest going to a hospital. There's one a few miles thataway," she tells them, points through one wall.

Lydia nudges Stiles in the back with her foot and asks, "Are you sure about that? Scott won't like it."

"Do I have a reason not to be?" Stiles replies, looking over her shoulder.

Lydia tips her head and stares into space. She hums noncommittally, which Stiles takes as a no. Stiles also wonders if the Winchesters are getting tired of being out of the loop.

"So, anyway," Stiles says, "We'll wait for the ghouls. You guys can go. Catch ya later," Stiles says. The pack adds their own nods and goodbyes--Derek just slides back and glares with glowing eyes from the shadows.

Sam and Dean are outside and halfway to their car before they realize they hadn't meant to leave quite yet. Stiles can make people a little loopy sometimes.

"We can't let them go," Dean says. 

"Garth said they're good kids," Sam says.

"You know how Garth is. Everyone's good to him," Dean counters.

"We let Kate go, and Garth and his family," Sam points out.

"This isn't like Kate. They can't control it."

"They said they can. Ritual or cursed descendants."

"We've never heard of that, and we live in the fucking Men of Letters bunkhouse," Dean argues. "They've got to be lying."

"You've got to admit, though. It makes sense. And Stiles seems like she's got them under her thumb," Sam says. "They seem to do what she says."

"Since when is that a good thing? You saw her fight in there. She was ruthless and brutal. We don't know these kids. We can't just let them go because some girl says so, no matter how smooth a talker she is."

"They're just kids," Sam pleads, a last-ditch effort because Dean doesn't even have to say the words for Sam to hear him: that doesn't mean they aren't monsters and it hasn't stopped us before.

Dean does say, "You know as well as I do we have to do this." 

Sam stops arguing. They head back to the church. When they throw open the door, Stiles is the only one left inside. She sits cross-legged in the middle of the floor, naginata across her lap. A stubborn splatter of blood clings to her throat.

"Japanese women in the Bushido class--that's the samurai class--used naginatas," Stiles says, tracing her fingers along the runes in the wood. "Male samurai stopped using them as firearms came into play, but the women would protect their homes and families. I researched its history when the kitsunes made this one for me, and when I learned that I understood why they said it was perfect for me."

"Where'd they go?" Dean asks harshly, pointing his pistol at Stiles. She still doesn't look up.

"They're nearby. You won't get far if you shoot me, promise, but you also won't find them if you don't. Shoot me, I mean. I'd prefer it that way, too, if you don't mind."

"How'd you know we were coming back?" Sam asks.

"You're Sam and Dean, the Winchester brothers; it's the family business! I'd be an idiot if I thought you'd leave my pack alone. Garth really is too much of a softy. You were planning to at least threaten us, right? Big bad hunters coming after the big bad wolves?"

The Winchesters shift but don't reply. Sam looks at Dean like he wants to punch him. Stiles stands, bracing her naginata on the ground. 

"Here's the thing," she announces. "I have a lot of friends. Kitsunes, werewolves, ghouls, hunters, even a couple nice vampires. My dad's the Sheriff, Scott's is FBI, Kira's mom has been alive for 900 years and Derek's uncle slash Malia's dad is--well, let's just say he's a monster when he wants to be. And there are a lot of people who owe me something. If you come after my family, you won't live long. 

"I've read the books. I know you two don't stay dead. But even if you get brought back to life, every time you meet someone we used to know you'll get sent right back to wherever Winchesters go when they're dead. And that’s if you manage to kill us, which, let me just say, is pretty damn hard to do."

"So you're threatening us now?" Dean scoffs.

"Yes," Stiles says simply. "I'm also offering you a choice. You can try to kill us, see how far you get. Odds are it won’t be far. Or you can walk away. Maybe you’ll even have a friendly werewolf pack to call on for the next apocalypse.”

Stiles flashes a grin and spins her naginata on its base. The curved blade flashes as a thin beam of light glances off. "So, boys. What'll it be?"

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this almost three years ago and as a girl!Stiles TWxSPN crossover it's probably in a dead niche but it's fun! Still proud of the sass. Still love girl!Stiles. Went way hard into healing herbs. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
